


I Won't Let You Down

by TwisterMelody



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwisterMelody/pseuds/TwisterMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how difficult, promises are meant to be kept.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Let You Down

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Let's Write Sherlock: Challenge 3!  
> Prompt: Write a story inspired by a piece of music.  
> Inspired by the song "Won't Let You Down" by Keith Urban.

John woke up from a dreamless sleep in his uncomfortable hotel bed. He could practically feel the sunshine creeping in past the window blinds of the old window, but he didn't dare open his eyes. In those few precious moments before he got up, he could let his mind play make believe. If he kept his eyes closed, it would feel like they were on a case somewhere, that he would open his eyes to find Sherlock reading though old newspapers to gather details, or that he would burst through the door at any moment excitedly babbling nonstop. and that the nightmare of reality had never existed.   
  
But, it was too quiet, always too quiet, and he knew then that it was real. God, he missed him.  
  
He forced his eyes open to face another day. Well, late afternoon, to be exact. His sleeping pattern had gone haywire. He lay there for a while, staring at the smoke stained ceiling of the little room, and idly wondered if there was any point to getting out of bed. It had been over two weeks at that point since Sherlock's death. There hadn't been final viewing of Sherlock's body, though John wasn't sure if he could have handled that in the first place. He had been to the grave once, but still didn't manage to say everything he wanted to. His life had been changed in so many ways since the day they'd met, and he'd been glad. It seemed wrong, almost, to wait and say everything he meant to after he'd gone. _Perhaps if I'd told him before,_ he began to think, _then maybe he wouldn't have -_  
  
 _No._ John sighed deeply and let his bare feet hit the itchy carpet and made his way to the little table with the single chair where his laptop sat. He made himself comfortable as he started it up. It was mid-summer, but in the dingy hotel room he'd called home for the past two weeks, he'd never felt more cold or alone. John had purposely secluded himself from everyone after the jump, save for Mrs. Hudson, and hadn't had his phone on in days. There was no energy left in him to socialize.  
  
John's mind kept wandering back to the thought. Sherlock hadn't got close to anyone, it seemed. Of course there were people that mattered to him, John knew that, no matter how much Sherlock would claim that he didn't care. He could see right through the charade. He knew Lestrade was important to him, as well as Molly, no matter how rude he was. He knew for a fact how he adored Mrs. Hudson, almost as if she was his mother. John smiled warmly at those familiar images in his mind. Then of course, there was Mycroft, but John quickly dismissed that thought before it could materialize and turn into anger once more. But what about him?  
  
'I don't have friends, I've just got one.'  
  
It had been evidenced to him time and time again that John was Sherlock's best friend, but John had never articulated the feeling was mutual until it was too late. _He knew, didn't he? With all the things we went through, all those times... He must have._ He shook his head slightly as if to physically knock the thought out of his brain.   
  
John adjusted himself in his seat and opened his web browser. Sherlock's name was still plastered all over the headlines. He was there in every newspaper, every tabloid, every webpage.  John hated it. It felt like he was reliving that day every single time he saw them, and it was eating him up inside. The guilt, the hurt, the regret, the anger, all of it. There was an entire planet out there full of people believing the absolute lies, and the fact angered him. It didn't matter what Sherlock had said to him that final day, he _knew_ better than that. He worked and lived and laughed alongside the man for a year and a half, there was no way he could have. There was no way he would have, for that matter. Sherlock might have been a lot of things, but he wasn't a fraud.  
  
John scrubbed his hands over his face and shut his laptop before making his way to the shower. He had fully intended to make his way back to Baker Street today to pick up a few things, no matter how much it would hurt. It had to be done sooner or later.   
  
After getting himself cleaned up, he made his way through the city, opting to walk instead of hailing a cab to prolong the time a bit. The streets were filled with people as the shining sun had drawn the locals outdoors, and the tourists were swarming as usual. John kept his stride and made no eye contact with anyone on the way, passing as a ghost through the streets. None of it helped, of course. Everywhere he looked he was reminded of Sherlock. From the cabs they'd taken, to the places they'd dined, to the routes they'd walked; Sherlock was everywhere.   
  
He paused once he reached the front door to 221B. He steeled himself, taking a deep breath and rolling his shoulders back before entering the building. Mrs. Hudson had gone out, it seemed, and John was thankful. He slowly made his way up the seventeen steps to their flat and stopped in the doorway, his entire body screaming at him to not enter. It felt wrong. The all too familiar feeling of tears trying to form crept up on him. _Get it together, Watson,_ he thought.  
  
There were boxes laid upon the kitchen table filled with Sherlock's equipment he used for experiments. He quietly walked over and let his fingers run along the edge of the cardboard. It was nearly reminiscent of the night of their first adventure and what a whirlwind that was. John had saved Sherlock in quite the literal sense, and Sherlock had saved John from merely just existing. And now he was back to square one, back to living a solitary life of silence. John turned back to the sitting room which had remained the same since he'd last seen it. There was a newspaper sitting haphazardly across the coffee table, opened up to one of the first stories about his friend's fate. John merely glanced at it and found the room spinning around him, and quickly made his way to his chair.  
  
He set his arms forward on his knees, hiding his face in his hands. He sat there for a long time, remembering, even after the sun had began to sink over the horizon. He had gotten completely lost in his own mind. John had always been there for him, always, even when his help wasn't wanted. It was in his nature as a doctor, as a friend. He reflected on their short time together. He had lied for him, killed for him, and risked everything he had for him. Sherlock had become the single most important person in his life, he realized, and John in Sherlock's, though it was never spoken. There was a deep bond of love and friendship between them that lived on in a silent heartbeat.  
  
"God, you idiot," he laughed humorously into the empty flat as tears threatened to form again, "I would have caught you if I could."  
  
When he finally stood again, the room was dark, save for the glow of the streetlights shining through the windows. The newspaper caught his eye once more, Sherlock's headline jumping out at him. For his friend, there wasn't much more he could do in this life. He couldn't get him back, not matter how much he wished he could. But, there was one thing he could do, and he had no second thoughts about it. He couldn't go on letting the world believe that Sherlock was a fraud. He would always believe in his best friend, and wasn't about to let him down. He got up and snatched the newspaper off the table, folding it into his pocket before walking out the door, forgetting the things he'd come for. He was on a mission as he walked through the London night, the shining stars dancing above him as a beacon of hope.

* * *

"Yes, that's it!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Don't you see, John? That's the rea-" Sherlock stopped himself dead in his tracks as he realized he'd done it again. Countless times over the last few months he'd found himself talking aloud to John, though he wasn't there. He bit his lip in frustration and went back to thinking inwardly.  
  
Winter had hit hard in his part of England, and it was bitterly cold. He rubbed his hands together as he paced the empty alley where he'd been resting previously. The darkened night had made everything much colder than necessary, and he longed for his chair and warm fire at Baker Street. And, as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he longed to see John again as he found himself missing his companion. Taking down Moriarty's web had been more difficult than originally thought, and the long months were beginning to take a toll on him, sleeping rough and eating little, but he wasn't one to give up.   
  
Sherlock shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the empty street of the little town he was in, dimly lit lampposts guiding his way, until he found a stack of newspapers set to be delivered. He grabbed one, rummaging through it for any clues on his current target. The sight of his own name caught his eye. He nearly grumbled and moved on, but there was something nagging at him to keep reading. In the small article, it mentioned him several times. It had seemed that back in London, there had been a movement started to clear his name, _I believe in Sherlock Holmes_. The paper had said the source was unknown, but still going strong and growing after nearly six months.  
  
A smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock's mouth as there was only one person with so much faith in him as to start such a thing. He felt a burst of pride in his chest. He had known that John wouldn't believe him. He was too loyal, too caring, and knew him too well. After all this time, with everything they had gone through on that last night, John had still believed in him. A small frown formed upon his lips as he thought back to what life was like before that night. God, it had been brilliant, and he'd taken it all for granted at that point, especially John. John with his habits of grounding Sherlock, his ability to stimulate his mind, his just being there to share his life with him in general. Sherlock bit his lip in thought and decided that as soon as it was possible, he would be checking up on his friend, just to be absolutely certain with his own eyes that he was safe.  
  
After all, John had been the one he let into his life, and had essentially become a part of him. He had almost forgotten what life was like before they met, those days consisted of drifting from case to case with intensified screaming of his mind until he came along. For the first time he could remember, Sherlock had been completely _happy._ Of course, there were others, but for whatever reason, no one ever had quite the effect on him as he did.  
  
They had been through enough things in eighteen months to last a thousand lifetimes, it seemed. Sherlock had done everything in his power to protect him, though John might not have realized. Yet here he was, still protecting him just as John had done on numerous occasions. _Always_. Sherlock had found himself doing things he'd never had thought of had John not been there. With John's presence he found himself evolving, allowing himself to feel with more emotion than before. And he thought that maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing after all. He may have not been the most luminous of people, but that wasn't the most important factor. There were so many qualities, Sherlock realized, that had made up his best friend that he cared about so deeply... And he wasn't about to let anything happen to him no matter the cost.  
  
John and Sherlock, it seemed, had become one entity; one could not exist without the other.   
  
He had made it back to London on the eve of his birthday, and slipped through the outskirts of the city unnoticed. Freshly fallen snow had blanketed the ground, and the clouds had disappeared, making way for the stars to shine brightly across the sky. Sherlock glanced up at them and smiled, remembering. He eventually ended up in the cemetery near his own gravestone and placed himself strategically near it, his breath making itself noticed in the chilled air. A few minutes later, the sound of familiar footsteps crunching through the snow fell upon his ears, and he looked around from the grave he hid behind to find John standing in front of his headstone in his usual black jacket, just as he remembered him. Sherlock had placed himself just close enough to make out his words.  
  
"I know it's late and all, but um... I don't think you were big on flowers, so I uh, I brought you this," John said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and placing a microscope slide atop the headstone with the other. "It's, well. I don't know what it is, but I found it growing in my flat and thought you'd enjoy it, so, happy birthday," he laughed. John shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels, and coughed. "I know I haven't been around and all, but..." he trailed off as he glanced up at the night sky with a look of deep concentration.  
  
Sherlock frowned as John's expression had changed to that of a worn, tired man.  
  
"You know, there's so much I want to say, but I just can't. Not yet," he said, shaking his head. "But," he added, "I thought I had all the time in the world. And I was starting to think, well. If I had never met anyone, that is, that living the rest of my days with you at Baker Street wouldn't have been so bad," he said with a slight smile. "It would have been good. Very good. It would have been an adventure." John took another shuddering breath. "You'd probably call me an idiot for talking to headstone," he began again after biting his lip, "but you talked to the skull so that makes us about even, don't you think?" Silence fell upon the area for a moment. "I do miss you... Prat."  
  
Sherlock smirked at the playfulness in his tone he'd come to miss in the last few months.  
  
"I'm never going to stop believing in you, you know. I won't give up, not for the rest of my days, I owe you that much." John took a step forward and placed his hand on the top of the stone, squeezing it. "I swear to you, I won't let you down." He pat the stone once and turned on his heel with a look of utter determination upon his face with the promise he'd just made. He began walking back into the warmth of the glowing London night with the stars leading his path.  
  
Sherlock emerged from his hiding place and watched him disappear. He hated seeing John in an emotional way, but it had to be done. Sherlock had many regrets, but saving John wasn't one of them, and never would be. _Just you wait, John,_ he thought as he pocketed the slide in one swift movement, _we have so many more days ahead of us._  
  
He had so much to do before he could return home safely, but he vowed to do so as quickly as he could. John's faith in him was moving, and the feeling was returned. He would rid the world of Moriarty's web and come back to everything he'd left behind. Sherlock turned and walked the opposite direction into the cold and unknown with the stars shining above. _I promise you,_ he thought to himself as he walked away into the night, _I won't let you down._

**Author's Note:**

> An image I created that goes along with this story can be found on my tumblr page [here](http://findawaytoshine.tumblr.com/post/44259986514). Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
